in a village as small as Amerleigh, they could not fail to meet. And now she knew. It was war.
Chapter Two
Later that day Roland fetched Travers, and they went on foot to inspect the big house. ‘I might as well go and see what needs to be done,’ he told him.
Taking the great key his mother had given him, he unlocked the stout oak door and stepped inside. Even the dilapidated state of the exterior did not prepare him for the interior. The downstairs rooms had been cleared of anything of value, leaving only the heavy old Jacobean furniture, which had long gone out of fashion; there was hardly a stick of decent furniture left and most of the carpets had gone. The walls were bare of pictures, though it was easy to see on the faded wallpaper where they had once hung.
Travers followed him from room to room. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, Major,’ he said. ‘It could be a villa in Spain after the Frenchies have done with it.’
‘Yes.’ It was far worse than he had expected. How had it got like this? What had his father been thinking of to let it happen? Surely his mother was mistaken and it had nothing to do with Cartwright and a worthless strip of land? An unwise investment made by his father, perhaps. But if that were so, why had Mountford not advised him against it? His mother was right, a visit to the lawyer was called for, and the sooner the better.
They went up the wide, curving staircase and wandered about the first floor, containing the main bedrooms, the gallery and the ballroom, followed by the caretaker who had arrived from nowhere and seemed to think it his duty to be in attendance. The bedchambers were dank and those hangings that remained smelled of damp. A mouse scurried along the wainscot and disappeared down a hole. ‘What on earth happened?’ he murmured.
‘Happened, my lord?’ Old Bennett was clearly agitated.
‘Oh, I do not expect you to know,’ Roland told him.
‘No, my lord, but it grieves me to see the old place like this. We are all glad to see you home. Amerleigh needs you.’
The man’s words brought home to him that he could not please himself, that there were others involved, servants and tenants and those in the village whose livelihood depended on the work they did, directly or indirectly, for the estate. How had they been managing? The thought that some of them had gone to Mandeville incensed him, especially if this desolation was any of Cartwright’s doing. No wonder his father had wanted revenge.
‘Seems to me, Major, you’re going to need some blunt,’ Travers said as they locked up and left to go back to the dower house.
He should have reprimanded the man for his impertinence, but he was only stating a fact and they were more than master and servant: they were friends, comrades in arms who had shared bad times as well as good. ‘Yes, Corporal, I think I will.’
‘There’s the French gold…’
The day before the battle at Vittoria, millions of dollars, francs and doubloons had arrived in the French camp and Lord Wellington, who knew of it and was always having trouble paying his troops and buying supplies, had been anxious to lay his hands on it, but unfortunately the troops had found it first and in the aftermath of the battle had stuffed their pockets and knapsacks with it. The 95th was no exception; though Wellington had threatened to punish anyone who looted, there was no stopping them. Travers had returned to their billet with his pockets jingling. He had used some of it to buy himself out of the army in order to accompany his officer home.
‘I can’t take that,’ Roland said. ‘It’s yours.’
‘No, it ain’t, not rightly. And it seems to me you need it more than I do. There’s been many a time you’ve helped me out of a scrape.’
‘Thank you, Travers, but I doubt if it is enough to do more than scratch the surface of the problem.’
‘Then scratch the surface, sir.’
He laughed suddenly. It was good to have a friend, but talking of French gold reminded him that he had a little nest egg of his own, given to him by a grateful Spanish Count the first time he had been sent behind the enemy lines. His work done, and wanting somewhere to hide up before trying to make his way back to his own lines, he had taken refuge in the stable of a large villa and hidden himself in the straw. A dog had found him early the next morning, yapping its head off until its owner appeared. She was young and frightened, but he had soothed her and assured her he meant her no harm. He had only wanted somewhere to sleep. She took him into the kitchen and while the cook gave him a good breakfast, she went to fetch her grandfather.
Count Caparosso was an elderly man, wearing old-fashioned satin breeches, an embroidered coat and a bag wig. He was also very nervous. The French were near at hand and he was frightened for his granddaughter. After giving Roland a meal and asking him all about himself, he had asked him to take Juanita to safety. ‘She has an uncle in Coimbra,’ he had said. ‘Take her there. I shall pay you handsomely.’
‘Do you not wish to go yourself?’
‘No, I am too old to travel and I must stay and look after the house as best I can until this dreadful conflict is over.’
Roland had hesitated. The journey would not be an easy one, bad enough on his own, but with a gently nurtured girl it would be doubly difficult. The Count had seen his reluctance. ‘She is my only joy,’ he had said. ‘The jewel of my bosom, but I dread what would happen to her if the French find her here. I am an old man and I would not be able to defend her.’
‘How do you know you can trust me?’ Roland had asked him with a wry smile. ‘I might be as bad as the French.’
‘No. You are an honourable man, I can see it in your eyes and the way you are so courteous to Juanita.’
‘She is a lovely young lady and deserves every courtesy.’
‘So you will take her?’
It was necessary for him to make a start and so he had allowed himself to be persuaded. Juanita and her maid were given into his care, and though he had protested he wanted no recompense, his host persuaded him to accept a small bag of jewels and an ancient carriage pulled by two very scrawny horses. But it had been a good disguise after all, and though they had had one or two scary moments, he had brought his charge safely to the house of her uncle. He had become very fond of her by then and they had parted with a promise from him that if he were ever in Coimbra again he would call. He had done so once, over a year later, only to find she had married her cousin and died in childbirth. Poor little thing, she had been no more than a child herself.
Apart from a diamond ring that he’d kept, thinking that one day he might marry, he had turned the jewels into ready money in Lisbon, surprised and delighted to discover they were worth a small fortune. He had banked the money, intending to save it against the day when the army no longer needed him and he had to settle down in civilian life. Believing he would not be welcome at home, he had planned to buy a farm, work the land and breed horses. Together with his annuity and half-pay, it was enough for him to make a good start. Must he give up that dream for this rotting mansion? But the rotting mansion was his birthright and his responsibility; he could not please himself, not anymore.
‘I think I shall move in at once,’ he told Travers as they wandered about the almost empty rooms, followed by Bennett, hanging on their every word for a morsel of information that might indicate what his lordship intended. ‘It behoves the Earl of Amerleigh to live at his country seat, not at the dower house with his mama. Besides, there is very little room there.’
They went up to the attics where they found a couple of old beds with damp mattresses, one or two cupboards, a sofa and some uncomfortable chairs, which even the creditors had disdained. ‘Fetch it all down and make up two bedrooms,’ he told the two men. ‘You will need to take the mattresses down to the kitchen and dry them off by the fire. And light fires in all the rooms to air them. I will be back later.’
He set off back to the dower house to acquaint his mother of his decision. She was dismayed and tried to dissuade him, but he was adamant. ‘If I am to restore the Hall